


Breathe in Together

by Foxen, novaed (orphan_account)



Series: Cheirophilia [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Violence, Competence Kink, Din does NOT break the creed here, Din's choice, Dissociation, Hand & Finger Kink, Hands, M/M, Oblivious Pining, Panic Attacks, Self-Esteem Issues, but not a bad or sad ending, corin is a badass, face touching, helmet comes off, i guess?, it just means we have work to do, tender moments, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxen/pseuds/Foxen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/novaed
Summary: Corin's self-preservation instincts must have left him on the last planet they were on because his frustration finally gets the better of him as his eyes feel like they’re burning. Everything has just been far too much that day and he finds himself losing control."Trust? You're talking to me about trust?!" His voice cracks on the last word. He'd probably be embarrassed if his heart wasn't hammering in his chest. "I do trust you, Mando. I do. But do you even trust me? At all? You rarely tell me what kind of job we’ve got going on, hell if I know if you’re raising some kind of riot, you don’t keep me updated. I don't even know your name for kriff's sake, let alone seen your face!"His face burns red and his breathing falls heavy. He suddenly feels sick. He just-- he said-- he closes his eyes, fists clenched tight.-Corin helps Din out of a dicey situation and ends up a little worse for wear for his efforts. Din is not happy about this, but neither is Corin. Trust is questioned, Din makes a choice, and Corin is left wondering where their relationship stands now.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Cheirophilia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575679
Comments: 24
Kudos: 463





	Breathe in Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rescue and Regret](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648874) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 
  * Inspired by [Family and Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758992) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 



> So uh, we started writing part three, and we were having a dandy time! Until some things didn't make sense without needed changes. So...here we are. If you're concerned about the original Part One, no worries! Forever to Touch You is still available for reading, just not a part of the series anymore.
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for the love!! We sorely appreciate every comment and kudos and gush over them!
> 
> \- Nova <3
> 
> As Nova said, this is the newer! longer! flashier! added angst rewrite of the original part one in our series. Please heed the tags for this, guys. Both the dissociative episode and panic attack are directly pulled from our own experiences and they are not glossed over. Read with caution. 
> 
> Part two will be receiving some minor edits to reflect this new part one and our planned for part three, but will mostly remain untouched.
> 
> Thank you for your kind words and support! We sincerely love each and every comment (yes, even just the keysmashes!).
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> <3 ~ Fox

Finding the man hadn’t been easy. If Corin hadn’t been there when Mando had met with the client, Corin would’ve never managed to trace his steps. He finds himself in the next town over before long, in an abandoned brewery. It smells so heavily of alcohol that it makes him run dizzy when he breaks the lock and gets inside. He almost gives up on the location when he finishes scouting all over the space and can’t find any clues to where he could be. But then he hears a clatter coming from beneath the floor. 

He finds a set of stairs tucked in an awkward spot beneath the bar and his brows furrow as he hears boisterous talking as he slowly manages his way down.

Corin crouches behind a worn down wall leading to a door, his eyes peeking over the edge to assess the situation. He thinks about how about how they got to this point; it was just supposed to be a fast and easy job, he had been told. But they hadn’t heard from Mando in two days, and Corin could recall the Child’s uneasy coos as time dragged on. 

He spots the Mandalorian on his knees with his hands pressed against his Beskar helmet, bound in cuffs. 

Corin’s heart feels like it’s beating in his throat when one of the assailants approaches the bounty hunter. 

“A Mandalorian, eh? Out in these parts? Unheard of,” The red-skinned alien chortles. “What do you say men, how about we see who we’re dealing with?”

His eyes widen at the threat and Corin feels the heart stuffed in his neck drop down to his feet. The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything as the alien starts reaching for the helmet, and Corin stops thinking. He moves a hand down to the blaster tucked into his holster and he levels it at his target. Corin unlocks the safety and doesn’t stop to think about his actions. The red-skinned thug falls down to their knees like a sack of rocks; they’re missing parts of the back of their head.

The former trooper rushes into the room before what he thinks are about five or six assailants can pull out their weapons and react. He shoots one alien standing by the doorway in the foot as a distraction, ducking down as another one swings her fist towards his face. 

The Mandalorian is still unmoving, but it doesn’t mean his lips aren’t. “Corin, get out of here!” He grunts when the one holding a blaster to his head hits him with it. 

Corin ignores the order as he kicks his attacker back to throw her off before thumping the butt of his blaster against her head and knocking her out.

The one that was by the door is back on their feet and shoots at him, and he hisses when the shot grazes his shoulder because he can’t move out of the way fast enough to dodge it. Corin decides to play dirty and pulls himself on top of a crate and flings himself at the guy, bringing them both to the floor. 

He’s grateful for the Beskar pauldron protecting his shoulder from the harsh landing.

Straddling the poor guy underneath him, he pushes the phaser in their hand away and doesn’t hesitate to unload a shot to his face. He narrowly ducks as the other three unload their weapons at him. He dives behind the same crate he jumped off of and takes a few seconds to consider his options from here. He pops back up and shoots in their general direction as he runs to hide behind another crate. He can hear the Mandalorian yelling something, but he’s too focused on his task now.

Corin has his back leaning against a support column and he can hear someone start to approach his position. His grip tightens on his blaster as he steadies himself and throws his hand out to the side. There’s an immediate impact against something and he then pulls the assailant into his line of view before shooting them directly in the gut. Roughly, he pushes the body away and doesn’t give it a second glance as he looks up to take in the situation again. 

Two more, not including the one the Mandalorian was grappling with. 

He’s panting and he can feel sweat falling from his hair. Impatiently, Corin swipes at it, only to notice his hand come back slick and dripping with blood. 

_ When had that happened… _ ? he wonders, before brushing it off against his pant leg with a shrug. Doesn’t matter. He can still hear talking, but the voices are unfamiliar. There’s bits and pieces of yelling coming from Mando, however, so he knows for sure that he is still fine, at least.

_ Can I take on both of them?  _

Corin shoves down his self-doubt. He’d never been much of a sharpshooter, but he’d had his training like the rest of them. He considers the gear he’d seen the two of them wear before firing a warning shot in the opposite direction. He ducks down as he watches where their tails come from. It’s enough for him to roll right out into the open and shoot the one with the weaker aim first in an attempt to disarm him. 

The one holding the Mandalorian down in his place seems to be getting antsy and he wonders if they’re about to try and run.

The alien with poor aim charges him while he’s distracted and sends a solid punch to his gut. Corin lets out a gasping breath in pain as his old wound throbs. Gritting his teeth, he pistol-whips him back in retaliation. The alien rears his head back before thrusting it straight into Corin’s face. There’s a soft crunch as his nose breaks and he can feel something trickle down to drip from his chin; he licks his upper lip to taste the familiar tang of copper. He squints before throwing his empty fist into the guy’s smug grin. 

He goes down and Corin grabs him by his front before he hits the floor, holding his body in front of his own like a shield. He pivots, finding the second to last thug, and shoots three quick shots into their chest. As they collapse to the ground, Corin pushes way the body he’s holding. It drops with a dull thump.

Corin turns to stare down the alien still standing over the Mandalorian, realizing that the bounty hunter has moved from the middle of the room to against a wall. He looks at the way his chest expands and contracts with labored breaths, his arms drawn up in front of his chest in a defensive position. The alien standing over him seems far too confident now, instead of antsy like before, and Corin readies himself to knock them down a peg.

_ Thwack! _

The former trooper falls to his knees as his vision blurs, losing his grip on his weapon. He’s seeing double, and when the world sways he realizes he’s being moved. His arm hurts from the vice grip that’s around it and he struggles weakly. He’s dropped against the wall alongside the Mandalorian and his neck  _ hurts _ . 

Corin blinks several times and can’t make sense of all the noise around him. The alien he  _ thought  _ he had knocked out properly earlier on in the fight was back on her feet and he can’t help the glare that he shoots in her direction. She’s arguing with the guy who had been struggling with the Mandalorian.

It takes him a half of a beat to move when it occurs to him that the two are distracted. He looks at the Mandalorian, who hasn’t stopped trying to grab his attention and makes a quick decision. The other man’s voice stalls out as Corin drags his hand against his side and to his thigh, searching for something sharp. His hand is gentle as it sweeps over to his inner thigh and down towards his knee where he knew there to be a hidden knife sheath.

Corin hugs the small knife against his palm as he tucks his hand back down to his side, eyes never leaving the assailants. The one he had attacked had a nasty split lip now, and she glares at him when she notices him staring. She stomps up in front of him and leans over, maintaining direct eye contact with Corin. 

“Thought you had me, huh? Humans.” She rolls her eyes, “You all think you’re all that, but you  _ really  _ aren’t. Especially you. Pathetic.”

A smirk creeps over Corin’s lips and he cocks his head slightly, “Oh?”

She grins, “Ye-”

His hand slams up out of nowhere with the knife tight in a backhanded grip as he shoves it up underneath her jaw. He gives it a sharp twist before yanking it right out. Corin doesn’t flinch as warm blood sprays onto his face and shirt as the body falls to the side.

The remaining alien’s grip on his weapon looks unsteady and Corin wipes away the blood coming out of his nose with a smirk. “Come on, now. Show me what you got.”

Corin doesn’t get a response back right away, but he can hear the Mandalorian muttering something under his breath in Mando’a. Once again ignoring him, Corin makes a move to get upright, a taunting smirk on his face. The alien takes a step back as Corin gets fully to his feet. 

Crossing his arms with the still bloody knife tucked against his forearm, Corin cocks his head in consideration before saying, “Get him out of the cuffs and I won’t leave you like your friends here.”

The threat works like a charm of good luck for once and the assailant tosses something in his direction before they take off running. Corin catches the object and doesn’t stop to think when he takes the knife in his hand and throws it directly into their back. He watches them fall with a hard thunk.

He looks over the object that was thrown at him and presses the button, unlocking the cuffs with a soft hiss. The other man is standing up immediately upon being freed. 

Getting up in Corin’s face, the Mandalorian hisses, “What the  _ hell  _ were you thinking?”

The adrenaline is slowly leaving Corin’s system and he can feel all of his minor injuries start to register. The cuts on his head are spewing blood down his face and neck, his broken nose is starting to form a clot in his left nostril, and the minor graze against his arm is pulling tight.

Mando continues, not quite yelling at him, but getting there if the anger in his tone was anything to go by, “I had it under control!” 

He feels vaguely sick as he absently wipes his bloody hands off against his already bloodstained pants. He’s still feeling the rush of the fight, however, and isn’t quite ready to back down despite his body’s rising protests. He tilts his head back slightly and looks down at the Mandalorian, eyebrow raised.

“It sure didn’t look like it.” The rational part of him -- the part not still overrun with endorphins and adrenaline -- is wondering what the hell he is thinking, snarking back at the angry bounty hunter. But the rest of him is still itching to fight.

And another fight he almost gets. The Mandalorian puts a hand to Corin's chest and gives him a shove. Corin stumbles slightly until his back hits the wall. The other man follows until they're nearly chest to chest.

"I  _ had  _ it," the Mandalorian seethes, finger pressed just under Corin's collar bone, "under control."

Corin idly scratches at his temple, eyebrows raised again, this time in skepticism. He’s about to respond with another retort when he notices his hand come away bloody. Right. Head wound. Giving a mental shrug, he sticks his first two fingers in his mouth, curling his tongue around them until the coppery taste of blood has diminished. Withdrawing his fingers to see them clean enough, for now, he then absently licks his lips before looking back at the Mandalorian.

They stare at each other for a moment. Corin starts feeling jumpy and on edge as his post-battle high continues to wear off. He raises an eyebrow questioningly. 

“What?”

The Mandalorian lets out a long, drawn-out breath before he steps away sharply.

“Let’s get back to the ship. There might be more of them.”

He watches him walk away for a moment before giving himself a mental shake. When he moves to follow, however, he feels his knees tremble and he stumbles forward. He prepares for a painful fall that would leave him in an embarrassing, bloody heap on the dirty floor, but before his knees even hit the ground, a pair of strong arms catch him around the chest.

“Damnit, Corin…”

Corin’s heart returns to beating hard in his neck, making it difficult to breathe. His vision swims slightly and he blinks a few times. He licks his lips. At the taste of blood this time, his stomach flips and for a second he thinks he might be sick. The nausea sits in the back of his throat, crawling and itching, never quite pushing over the edge.

The room feels a lot smaller now as the Mandalorian holds him up. The bodies lay in heaps on the floor, and Corin stares numbly as he loses count of how many there had been. The crates feel like monsters and the floors creak murderously as their feet step across.

The Mandalorian is saying something and while Corin tries to focus on the words as they’re being said, they filter through his brain in a strange sort of muffled jumble. He tries again, and again, but he can’t hold onto the words as they slip right past him. Frustration sets in but then he feels the world shift in perspective and he realizes he’s being straightened up.

When the hands let go of him, he can feel the warmth they held seep away from his person and a chill steadily takes over him. Corin starts to walk when he feels pressure pushing him forward, and he doesn’t think to check where it is coming from. There’s a throb in his abdomen that reminds him that he took a blow to the gut. He presses on it, absently, and is faintly surprised that it hurts more when he does. He pulls his hand away slowly, releasing a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Distantly, he realizes they’re no longer in the claustrophobically small room as he looks up and a blur of stars meet his gaze. Corin can’t bring himself to focus on one spot in particular and the nausea rises again as he feels overwhelmed with  **everything** .

The other man is walking ahead of him, and Corin finds himself drifting further behind. But then the man looks back at him. The helmet glares, the shine of the Beskar mocking his every step. He speeds up.

The Mandalorian’s posture is stiff and unwelcoming. He’s known the Mandalorian long enough by this point to know when the man is furious. And he is  _ definitely  _ furious now. Has to be. The Beskar taunts him like it’s laughing at his misery and for the failure he is. It feels like the pauldron on his shoulder is burning and he itches to snatch it off.

Whatever adrenaline he had remaining in his system dissipates into nothing as exhaustion and pain cloud his mind and he finds himself somewhere, somewhen _ ,  _ else.

‘ _ Keep your mouth shut, kid. They don’t like mouthy troopers ‘round here.’ _

His lips press shut on, hard enough they are on the verge of numbness as his head turns down and he stares at his feet. They were still moving, but he doesn’t remember ordering his feet to walk.

‘ _ Eyes down, CT-113! If you can’t school your expressions under a helmet, what kind of trooper are you?!’ _

It’s getting harder to breathe. His mouth tastes like ash.

‘ _ If you don’t do as you’re told, CT-113, we will find someone who will. Your grandfather was an honorable man, as was your father. It does not mean that you can’t still be replaced by someone far more capable. Your family name has no value here unless you can show me what you got. Got nothing? Then get out.’ _

He doesn’t know when his feet had stopped moving. Doesn’t recall how or why he was where he was, and he finds he can’t bring himself to care; the shake in his hands is suddenly far more interesting than remembering where he was going. 

A hissing noise registers to him as something pulls him a few steps back, a yellow light making him flinch, just barely. 

Something coos.

Corin blinks.

His vision blurs and he finally refocuses on his surroundings to find the Mandalorian standing to the left of him, posture still stiff. Corin furrows his brow in confusion before he looks down and sees green. 

His legs give out on him as he kneels down in front of the Child. 

Sweat, blood, and tears overwhelm his senses all at once as the pain he was in before comes back to the surface. His eyes burn, mouth dry, hands shake, ears throb, and his nose  _ aches _ . The kid had stayed put for once -- after he had pleaded for him to stay put so he could find his dad -- something Corin is incredibly grateful for. The last thing he needs is a lost or wounded child to trigger the Mandalorian's protective instincts, otherwise, Corin would be a dead man. He realizes that he would lose it himself if that were to happen. Not having the kid alive and well quickly becomes something he never wants to see.

_ When did we get back to the ship?  _ The thought stays with Corin for a moment until another coo redirects his attention.

The little one’s arms open up for him as he shuffles closer and he breaks, uncaring about the state he was as he takes him up, holding the tiny being against his face. Little three-fingered hands palm his face and Corin leans into it. His vision swims as he closes his eyes and wills tears not to fall.

Heavy footfalls register to his ears and he reopens his eyes to find the bounty hunter going up the boarding ramp. Corin realizes that they should probably do the same. He sets the little one down gently before getting up stiffly to his feet.

Corin smiles faintly at the kid as he chirps at him, his small hand clutching at the fabric of his pants. He goes to reach down and ruffle the white downy fluff on the top of the Child’s head but reconsiders it at the last moment when he once again sees how red his hand is. He flexes his fingers.

“Let’s get inside, yeah? Before your dad starts worrying,” Corin mumbles. The Child just coos again, still holding his pants as they make their slow way up the ramp.

Head still fuzzy, Corin shuffles over to where they keep the medical kit. He pauses, however, when he sees the Mandalorian already there.

“Sit.”

Corin blinks but does as he’s told, finding one of the benches against the wall of the ship. He manages to hold back a flinch when the Mandalorian gets in his space. The man kneels in front of him, head cocked to the side.

“Hold still.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Corin’s eyes widen as the Mandalorian reaches up, placing one hand on his forehead and the other on his nose. Before he is able to so much as blink, the hand moves and he feels a shooting pain go up his face and into his skull before it fades to a dull throb. 

He goes to take a deep breath and finds he can breath easier now. Huh.

“Your nose will probably remain a bit crooked but it’s the best we can do here.”

“Uh...thanks,” Corin mumbles, but the Mandalorian is already up and moving again. Corin watches as he grabs the medkit and takes it when it’s passed to him.

“Start cleaning what you can reach and I’ll be back to help.” 

With that, the bounty hunter picks up the Child, who had been watching the proceedings curiously, and goes up the ladder to the flight deck.

The ground rumbles as the ship begins to lift, and Corin is left with his own thoughts once more. He opens the medkit and begins to tend what wounds he can take care of the easiest, as he was instructed.

The motions are too ingrained into him to be a distraction and he makes the mistake of letting his mind wander.

He doesn’t recall the Mandalorian’s words so much as the  _ tone  _ in which they were spoken. The harsh anger. The cutting frustration and damning exasperation. 

_ Shit _ . And he had sassed the Mandalorian back! He remembers that much, at least. He’d have been severely punished if he had done that as a stormtrooper. And rightly so. It wasn’t in his place to talk back to those more valuable than himself. 

_ Kriff!  _ His hands tremble and he accidentally presses too hard into the wound on his arm while trying to clean it, biting down on his lip to contain the noise that wants to escape him. He was going to get kicked off at the next planet they stop at, Corin knows it. He’d really done it this time. He couldn’t even bring himself to blame bad luck for this. No, this time the fuck-up was all on him. 

His breath is catching in his throat and lungs. Corin wipes and wipes away at the blood on his arms, frustration sets in when every wipe smears the blood instead of collects it. He stops trying to wipe the blood off as the shaking in his hands becomes too strong to keep a handle on.

He had lost himself in that fight. He had just...reacted. Took out half a dozen beings because one had threatened his...his….he didn’t even have a word for what the Mandalorian was for him, and yet it hadn’t stopped him from taking the assailants out anyway. He hadn’t lost control of himself like that in a very long time, not since the fall of the Empire, at least. 

And he had done so in front of the Mandalorian. 

His chest feels tight, constricted. It’s like there was a weight on his chest and he gasps, struggling to bring in a breath. He pulls in one, then another, and another, and now they’re coming  _ too  _ fast, he can’t keep up with them now. His world tilts.

_ Stars,  _ he had been absolutely  _ ruthless _ . And the only thing he regrets about his actions was that they were done in front of the Mandalorian. Not that he had taken the lives of others so casually. Because how could the Mandalorian let him near the Child now? After he saw the kind of  _ thing  _ he was capable of being?

His vision goes blurry and he distantly wonders if it’s from the lack of proper oxygen or if it’s from the tears now streaming down his cheeks.

He feels a wail build up in him from the pit of his stomach and he starts to curl in on himself, biting down on his bottom lip harshly to keep the sound from escaping. His body shudders, the old wound in his gut flaring up harshly as he contracts the muscles in his abdomen to keep himself from shaking apart. 

His breaths are still coming in too fast, his eyes burn from the tears. Fingers pull through his hair tight, but he doesn’t stop. He feels something dribble over his lips and it’s either blood or snot but he can’t bring himself to care.

A high pitched keening sound escapes through his clamped jaw and he swings his fist down to the ground in frustration.

_ Pathetic _ .

He screws his eyes shut tight.

_ Worthless _ .

He grinds his teeth together.

_ Expendable. A nobody _ . 

Jaw clenched tight, he forces his breaths into a slower rhythm. His body shudders as it tries to adjust to the new pattern, but he pushes through it. Eventually, his breathing calms. The tears stop. He looks ahead sightlessly at the weapon locker across from him, eyes burning and lungs aching. 

He takes a deep breath, then draws his arm across his face. It comes away wet and he shakes it with a sneer of disgust. Shakily, he gets up to his feet. He stumbles slightly, his head feeling heavy and throbbing dully. Turning, he opens the medkit and finds a clean cloth inside. He wets it with a container of sterile water and beings to wipe his face off. He holds it against his eyes for a second, letting the cool water soothe his abused tear ducts. Next, he passes the rag under the eyes. Across his forehead. Down each cheek. He turns the rag and folds it after each pass, not wanting to drag even more fluids across his face.

He feels out the wound on his head, finding it when his fingers pass over it as he combs his hands through his hair. It throbs angrily as he does his best to clean the area with the rag before pressing a bacta patch to it and wrapping gauze around his head to keep it in place. 

He smears bacta paste on the wound on his arm disinterestedly before turning to the fresher and washing his hands. He avoids looking at his reflection for the time being.

He takes a few more deep breaths before he blinks. Pressing clean hands against his face, he then pushes them through the bits of his hair not bound in the bandage. It’s a struggle to stay calm and collected. His old training wouldn’t dare let him walk out in such a vulnerable state-- he shoves the thought down viciously.

Finally, he looks up at his reflection. He’s not much to look at right then. Just tired, red eyes. Puffy cheeks. There are already bruises forming around both of his eyes and along this left temple and cheekbone.

Exhaling, Corin nods at his reflection before walking to the ladder and up into the cockpit, forgetting that the Mandalorian had said he’d come back down. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find -- the child, maybe, or the back of the Mandalorian's helmet as he studiously chooses to ignore Corin while plotting their next course -- but it certainly isn't the other man standing in the small space, arms crossed in a rare indication of vulnerability and indecision.

They stare at each other for a moment. Corin is relieved to see that much of the earlier anger is gone from his stance, though there is still a strange level of tension running through him. 

The Mandalorian shifts slightly, taking a step toward Corin, whose response is automatic. He steps back, turning his body so one shoulder is angled towards the bounty hunter, minimizing the amount his body is exposed, and raises his hands in a defensive posture. The Mandalorian immediately freezes, as does Corin. 

_ Shit. _

Slowly, the Mandalorian uncrosses his arms and lowers his hands to his sides, palms down in a placating gesture. 

"Corin, are you...." He pauses, head tilted down like he's looking for the right words. He looks back up in Corin's direction, his hands dropping completely as he sighs.

Corin is still tense, but now he's a little curious. Sure, the Mandalorian isn't a master of words or anything, but it's not often that he has seen him at an apparent loss for them.

He thinks he hears the other man mutter something under his breath before saying clearly, softly, "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

Corin stills, blinking. 

When he doesn’t respond, the other man again mutters something in Mando’a before he continues in Basic. "I shouldn't have," his hand makes a vague gesture that Corin takes to indicate their recent, one-sided conversation, "but you have  _ got  _ to stop putting yourself in danger.  _ Please.  _ How many times do I have to say it?"

There’s a sharp pain in his heart at the words, and his voice is hoarse from disuse as he starts talking before he can think about what he's going to say, “My injuries were minor and...and easy to fix. The worst of it was a broken nose! I do have training, Mando, I’m not...I’m not some clueless kid! I might follow you around like a lost scoundrel, but I know what I’m doing. I’ve fought more than five, or what, six aliens before. I couldn’t just... _ wait  _ !” His face feels hot with frustration and no small amount of shame for his actions.

_ Never good enough. _

“Yes, you can. And you will. This can’t happen again,  _ please _ . Minor? Corin, you were covered in blood! Your nose is broken, you have a significant burn on your arm, and it's sheer luck you didn't end up with anything worse!" 

Corin pinches the bridge of his nose, a sharp noise leaving him as pain shoots into his head. He is so exhausted, right down to his core. He ignores the verbal stab at his injuries, the comment regarding the state of his luck, focusing instead on the first part of the Mandalorian's words. “I...I can’t  _ promise  _ that. I can’t. I can’t...let you do this alone and  _ worry  _ about whether or not you’re coming back. I need to pull my own weight!” 

The other’s posture stiffens as if he is going to cut in. Corin rushes on, “Don’t, please. Watching the kid? I can do that. I love watching him, d-don’t...get me twisted. But we don’t even know when you’re getting back because even when I insist, you won’t tell us. You were gone for two days this time! Do you have any idea how long it took me to find where you were?! Imagine if you hadn’t had us with you to meet the client, how long would it have taken for you to get back? What if bounty hunters came for the Child? You don’t ever think to mention anything before leaving! You don’t  _ get  _ it!”

He holds onto one wrist, his fingers encircling it snuggly, friction pulling at his skin. The urge to hit something rises in him once more and he tightens his grip. The urge dissipates. Voice more controlled, he continues. “I can wait.  _ Only _ if you stop…” He pauses, searching for words, “If you stop running off to do jobs without  _ telling  _ me. Let me help. Yeah, sure, you’re the  _ Mandalorian _ , but it doesn’t mean I’m not worried about you not coming back to us!" Catching his own words, Corin backpedals quickly. "I mean, to the kid. The kid.”

The Mandalorian stands still and Corin stiffens because he can’t seem to stop pushing his damn luck, good or bad.

The pause drags on, but the Mandalorian eventually recovers. "I have come back every time. When have I not come back to the ship? This is the way, Corin. What part of this is confusing to you? You’ve  _ got  _ to trust that I will come back."

Corin's self-preservation instincts must have left him on the last planet they were on because his frustration finally gets the better of him as his eyes feel like they’re burning. Everything has just been far too much that day and he finds himself losing control.

"Trust? You're talking to me about  _ trust?!"  _ His voice cracks on the last word. He'd probably be embarrassed if his heart wasn't hammering in his chest. As it is, he feels a pressure building up behind his eyes and prays he doesn't start crying. Again. He’s had enough tears for the time being. "I do trust you, Mando. I  _ do _ . But do you even trust me? At all? You rarely tell me what kind of job we’ve got going on, hell if I know if you’re raising some kind of riot, you don’t keep me updated. I don't even know your  _ name  _ for kriff's sake, let alone seen your  _ face  _ !"

His face burns red and his breathing falls heavy. He suddenly feels sick. He just-- he said-- he closes his eyes, fists clenched tight.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I…" he starts to trail off, unsure. He feels his body shake. Not  _ again _ . 

"Corin."

There's something about the tone of the other man's voice that catches him off guard. Corin reluctantly opens his eyes.

The Mandalorian is a lot closer, now, and Corin swallows at how he hadn’t even heard him approach. 

_ Worthless,  _ his thoughts whisper cruelly.

“You’re not.”

He was. He knew he was. It’s what everyone had always told him, wasn’t it? 

“You’re  _ not  _ ...worthless.  _ Corin,  _ ” the Mandalorian’s voice sounds pained for some reason and Corin opens his eyes. When had he closed them again? He tries to refocus on the man in front of him. From his body language, Corin gets the impression that he’s thinking fast, but he can’t imagine what for.

And then Corin’s stomach is dropping and he feels like he might be sick again as the Mandalorian reaches up to the sides of his helmet. Corin feels a surge of panic. 

"What the hell are you doing? No -- why--  _ stop  _ ."

The other man pauses for a second, still holding onto the helmet. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asks, and Corin can  _ hear  _ the eye roll in his voice -- how does he  _ do  _ that? -- but he also thinks he heard a slight tremble under the bravado. "You're right. Trust should go both ways. And it  _ does.  _ "

Corin chokes on his next breath.  _ This can't be happening!  _ he thinks.  _ I'm dreaming, right? Again? I did get my head knocked around a few times... _

Out loud he says, "Uh," before he covers his face with his hands. 

_ Kriffin’ eloquent, Corin, you  _ dumbass  _...  _

“Don’t do it just because you think it’s what I need!” The hand over his eyes trembles. “I won’t let you do it. You make another move to take that helmet off and I’m going back down to the other deck and not coming back up until you’ve reconsidered this!”

_ As though the threat of you leaving is enough to keep him from-- _

The Mandalorian's sharp voice cuts through his panic, "Stay.” Then, softer, “Please. I...I want to do this.”

Through his fingers, Corin says, "You  _ can't  _ take it off. I'm not." He pauses and swallows. More quietly, hands quivering, he continues, "I'm not worth it. Worth your creed or religion or people. Your armor. None of it. I--" 

“Shut up.”

Corin shuts up, his jaw closing with a snap. He takes a shuddering breath.

“Okay,” the word is breathed out, jagged with relief. “We’ll...we’ll do it this way. The helmet is coming off--”

Corin tries to protest again, but the Mandalorian talks over him. “You need to  _ trust  _ me when I say that what I’m doing won’t compromise my creed.” He pauses, and Corin can’t help but wonder what is going through his head in this moment. “And I’ll trust you to make that true and that you’ll keep your eyes shut.”

“Okay,” Corin says softly, confusion coloring his tone. He’s not sure where the Mandalorian is going with this.

At the sound of a latch clicking and hissing open, he flinches. Then he hears the helmet being set down somewhere. 

_ Oh  _ stars _ , he's actually taken it off.  _ He screws his eyes shut even tighter behind his hands.

The Mandalorian quietly steps in front of Corin, the rustling of his clothing the only indication that he moved closer. He distantly wonders if the sounds were made intentionally this time.

"Corin," the Mandalorian says again, quietly. And Corin feels like his knees might actually buckle because his voice is so  _ soft _ . And after the harsh brutality of the day, it was almost too much.

"Corin," he repeats. And, even quieter still, "I  _ do  _ trust you." There's a pleading note in his voice that Corin doesn't have time to think about because he hears the sound of buckles being undone and the drag of cloth against skin. Then the Mandalorian is gently taking his hands by the wrists and pulling them away from his face. His bare hands are warmer,  _ softer,  _ than he expected and Corin  _ trembles _ . 

He goes to speak. 

A tap to his wrist. A hushed, “Shh. Don’t look. Don't speak.”

Someone lets out a shuddering breath and Corin suspects it came from the both of them.

_ Oh,  _ stars,  _ the Mandalorian's hands are ungloved and touching mine and-- _

_ “  _ Just...feel.”

Then the Mandalorian places Corin's hands against his own face and holds them there. Corin can’t tell if it’s his own hands or the Mandalorian's, but someone’s are shaking. He's trying valiantly to  _ not  _ move his fingers against the skin he's so desperately wanted to see for months now. He fails  _ -of course he does-  _ and moves his fingers ever so slightly, taking in the feel of the Mandalorian's bare face. 

The rough stubble under his thumbs. The sharp jaw under his fingers. He can feel the ends of the bounty hunter's hair tickle the backs of his knuckles. He's distantly surprised at the apparent length of his hair -- how it curls against his neck -- he had expected it to be much shorter. Cropped. He itches with the need to drag his hands through the strands to see just how long his hair actually is; it's a conscious effort to keep them right where they are.

Eyes still closed, he swallows thickly. He's suddenly overwhelmed for the second time that day. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t know what for this time. He loses himself to warm hands, a face all soft planes and hard edges and rough stubble, the smell of the earth clinging to the clothes beneath the Beskar armor. The amount of trust the Mandalorian has chosen to place in him… it's too much. His mouth parts, ready to say  _ something,  _ anything.

Before he can get a word out, however, the Mandalorian brings his own head forward, his hands still holding Corin's to his face. Their foreheads bump together gently and now there are a dozen new sensations battling for Corin's attention. The pressure of their foreheads pressed together; the Mandalorian's warm breaths against his own face, almost unbearably intimate; the rapid beat of the pulse under his fingers; the brushing of the tips of their noses as Corin tilts his head just a little, lips parted; the sound of the Mandalorian's breath hitching slightly, his grip on Corin's hands tightening.

Corin wants...he doesn’t know what he wants. He curls his fingers against the Mandalorian's face, their fingers interlocking. 

He wants to open his eyes, to make proper eye contact. He  _ wants  _ to know what is going through the Mandalorian’s head right now because...what the hell?

He lets out a gusting breath and then the hands over his own are gone and the warm skin beneath his fingers is pulling away. Before he’s even able to react, he hears the scrape of metal and the hiss of the helmet as it’s put back in place.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything, but Corin can hear ragged breathing. His fingers twitch and he draws his hands to his chest before opening his eyes.

The back of the Mandalorian’s helmet shines disdainfully at him from the pilot’s chair. Corin’s gut clenches in confusion and hurt and his heart thuds painfully against his breastbone.

What...what just happened?

He’s trying to figure out what to say when there’s a soft coo from the direction of the cargo bay. It's followed by a squeak, a clattering of  _ something  _ as it's tipped out of whatever box it was held in, and a small yelp.

_ Shit _ . They had forgotten about the kid. With one last look at the stiff man before him, Corin bites his lip and lowers his gaze before turning and making his way down the ladder to see what the kid had gotten into this time.

\---

Din keeps his eyes closed for a moment while he catches his breath. He clutches at the arms of his chair, gloves still off in his panic. He listens intently, expecting Corin to say  _ something.  _ When nothing comes, Din turns his head just enough to see Corin out of his periphery. 

The former 'trooper has his hands curled up near his chest, a lost expression on his battered face.

Din watches those hands, noting the way long fingers twist around each other. Swallowing, he recalls Corin's cocky grin, the almost  _ casual  _ way he had licked the blood off his own fingers after taking out a half dozen mercenaries with apparent ease. He remembers those same hands, those same fingers, resting tentatively against his face. The gentle and curious way he had drawn his calloused fingers over his skin.

A shudder nearly goes through him, his face warm everywhere they had touched. He wants...  _ more _ .

There's a complicated knot of sensations blooming in Din's chest. Desire. Need. Apprehension. Adrenaline.  _ Fear _ . 

What the  _ hell  _ had he been thinking? 

He pushes the anxiety down. Focuses.

Despite the panic, he also feels that what he just risked was worth it. _ Corin  _ was worth it. The other man has felt like more than just a passenger or a work partner for some time now. He’s felt like--

There's a coo and a crash, and he realizes he's forgotten about the kid. He had placed the Child in his seat after changing him out of the robe Corin had bloodied up. However, when Corin had come up the ladder looking like hell and dead on his feet, all thoughts of the kid and his earlier anger and frustration disappeared.

Din stares after Corin now as he blinks slowly and turns towards the ladder. Before descending, however, Corin casts him one last glance. Din barely holds back the desire to call after him and then he is making his way down to whatever mess the kid just made. 

His hands unclench from the arms of the chair, smoothing over the dents he left in the fabric. Double checks the course he set earlier. Grabs his gloves.

He stares at them absently, his heart still thudding in his chest.

_ Iba' osik'la ca'nara _ .

**Author's Note:**

>  _Iba' osik'la ca'nara_ roughly translates to "What a mess of a time."  
> or, "What a fucking mess."
> 
> Kudos are Comments are fuel for the soul!


End file.
